


Half a Million Miles Away

by EternityCode



Series: Telltale Intimacy [3]
Category: League of Legends
Genre: Alot of banter, Banter, Bilgewater - Freeform, Drowning, Gangplank's men, Guns, M/M, Shooting, Too Much Banter, Violence, ships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9977153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternityCode/pseuds/EternityCode
Summary: Twisted Fate could taste the smoke and ashes, almost see the world being painted black and red, and the next instant, there was a warmth around his middle, strong hands holding him, shielding him from the detonation and then they hit the deck. Not a second passed and the taste of blood on was on the Card Master's teeth; the two toppled over the edge of the ship and into the grasp of the bubbly green bellow.Then the cold seized him, and he felt their weight break the surface of the seas. Seconds later, he was seeing blue and green; red on the edges of his vision.There was a distinct crackle and even underwater, he felt the explosion that came next, shredding the ship into a million little fragments and the ocean ripped along with his sight.His hat was missing.He was drowning.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back! I'm so sorry about how late I've ran this one. Please don't kill me! I'm already working on another Twisted Fate x Graves fanfiction, so don't you guys worry!
> 
> I tried my best to take suggestions, but this one took so long, and overall I didn't really feel satisfied with this one, just because of the sheer volume and struggles I had with it.
> 
> Please enjoy, nonetheless.

Half a Million Miles Away

 

    It was midnight when a gambler and a gunman crashed onto the path of a small village in the middle of nowhere.  
    The full moon's rays were strong and vibrant, the patches of trees and greenery polished over with a hue of silver. The night air was cloudless but without mist, shrouding some of the shyest stars. The small breezes that drifted by were both relaxing and alarming at the same time, forcing the two partners on their highest alert, but cruel enough to wrap them in the the shrouds of serenity.  
    There was the vague scent of the sea in the distance, but far enough that the salty tinge was merely existing, too light to bring back memories of both pain and happiness.  
    Two pairs of boots cracked down the small stoned pathways, each at their own rhythm.  
     
    The lankier of the two hummed pleasantly under his brimmed hat. The man's hat had been tipped with gold, along with his dark cloak, silky vest and those gold-tipped leather boots.  
    While the other, more burly man was on constant alert, his double-barreled gun clutched tightly between his hands and chest, the last of a cigar on his breath.  
     
    “Malcolm,” the lankier man suddenly spoke, his tone light and cheerful, “you haven't spoken in an hour.”  
    Malcolm Graves let out husky growl before his grip on his prized gun lightened by the slightest and he withdrew another cigar from his cloak pocket. A moment of shuffling fabrics later, the cigarette was lit aflame and the man exhaled.  
    “And you talk too much,” Graves stated plainly, his tone almost annoyed.  
    “As a matter of fact, I only talk enough-”  
    “Shut it, Fate,” Malcolm Graves growled, elbowing the other man lightly.  
     
    Twisted Fate just looked at Graves and clutched his heart dramatically before letting out a less masculine sound with a hand over his forehead.  
    “Malcolm, how could you say such a thing?” Twisted Fate demanded, his tone too dramatic, “oh, I don't think I can stand anymore.”  
    On that note, the lankier man tripped over his feet almost gracefully and crashed into Graves, who in return, grabbed the man by his shoulders and set him up right without a second thought.  
    “Malcolm, not in the best of moods, I see,” Twisted Graves gave a half-pout before brushing the imaginary earth from his cloak.  
    “Trying to not get us killed like last time-”  
    “Which was absolutely not my fault.”  
    “Asshole.”  
    “Let's not start pointing fingers now.”

    Twisted Fate made a tisking sound before he decided to continue the banter. He straightened his hat just enough to cover his eyes completely once more.  
    “Malcolm?”  
    “I've got the gun.”  
    “What?” the gambler and thief questioned.  
    “I've got the gun,” Graves repeated again, his statement almost a little threateningly.  
    “I haven't even said anything yet,” Twisted Fate whined, before his features returned to its usual charming, trademark smile of Bilgewater, “besides, you wouldn't do that to me, hotshot.”  
    “Try me, I dare you,” the gunman growled, prodding the lankier man's shoulder with the gun barrel teasingly.  
    “Hotshot....” Twisted Fate whined again.  
    “Fate....” Malcolm Graves mimicked, “now get moving.”

XxX

    When Twisted Fate and Malcolm Graves arrived at the nearest inn, the sky was still a pale and diluted blueish purple, yet the moon's rays were weak and the stars unseen.

    “You know what day is today, Malcolm?”  
    “Go back to sleep,” Malcolm Graves grumbled in annoyance, chewing his bottom lip for one second, before pulling the covers up to his face, leaving Twisted Fate with the smaller portion of the cloth.  
    “But hotshot, you're the most interesting thing in the inn,” Twisted Fate retorted, his otherworldly blue eyes flickering towards every corner of the dark room challengingly, almost daring Graves to pick at his statement.  
    “Shut it, Fate. You've been talking way too much since day one. Still do.”  
    “Malcolm, not my fault that the only thing you've done is chewed on cigars and shot guns.”

    Graves grumbled loudly, a husky noise escaped his throat. With his eyes clenched shut; determined to get a bit more of shut-eye, groaned and with one furious tug, wrenched the last of the bed cloth from Twisted Fate's fingers.  
    “One more word, and you're sleeping on the floor.”  
    “You wouldn't do that to me, Malcolm.”  
    “Try me, I dare you.”  
     
    Twisted Fate grumbled lightly, supposedly mumbling about how undignifying it would to be sleeping on the inn floor and something about Ionian silk. Fate shook his head lightly, a smug smile upon his lips as he played with his long and braided locks of black hair.  
    He patted the mattress lightly for a second, before getting up from the bed and striding over to where the hanger stood. He rummaged through his cloak quickly.  
    Slowly, the lanky man carefully slid out a bottle of whiskey from within his cloak and gave one clear snap against the polished glass container.  
    Seeing that he inflicted not even the least reaction from Graves, Twisted Fate was only more determined to do so.  
    The lankier man of the two poked the other teasingly, earning a barely conscious groan of protest, resulting in the covers being pushed further above his partner's head. Then, Fate was digging his fingers against the stubborn cork. It popped out after a bit of pulling and Fate clicked his tongue in an unfazed manner, a smug smile already creeping up his face.  
    He whiffed it lightly, letting out a impressed sigh-not an emotion often seen on the man and he edged it slowly near Graves' face, swinging it tantalizingly just out of reach.  
    The groans of annoyance quickly became curious, and a mutter of surprise and recolonization hit Malcolm's tongue immediately.  
    “Sunshine Whiskey,” Graves purred.  
    “Indeed,” Fate announced confidently, taking the bottle from under the other man's nose and swigged half the bottle in one go.  
    The Card Master and gambler, Twisted Fate, gave his mouth one pleased snap and licked his upper lip while he hummed a little tune.  
    “Give it here.”  
    “I'm afraid I didn't hear you.”  
    “I said, give it here.”  
    “Come and get it.”  
    “Son of a gun.”

XxX

    Malcolm Graves swore loudly under his breath before sticking another cigar between his teeth, his hair rugged and unkempt, while Twisted Fate hummed pleasantly, his locks of unbraided and braided hair alike carefully tucked under his brimmed hat.  
    “On the bright side,” the lanky man paused, considering his words, “at least you got a sip of the whiskey.”  
    “Before getting us thrown out of the inn.”  
    “It wasn't my fault the walls were paper thin!”  
    “Ha ha, very funny, Fate.”  
    Malcolm Graves raised an eyebrow at his partner in crime before grumbling something under his breath,.  
    “Oh, that kind of thin,” Twisted Fate said cheerfully, unfazed as if it was perfectly within the normal radius to discuss such, private matters.  
    “Wise ass.”  
    “As charming as ever, hotshot.”  
     
XxX

    “We're almost at Bilgewater's port,” Graves growled under his breath, the words husky and tense.  
    “I know,” Twisted Fate muttered, picking up on the atmosphere, his words now without banter and alert, the wounds still emotionally clear from the last encounter.  
    The last time, the gambler had received a knife in his left shoulder blade but he had made it through alive and well, perhaps with a little less banter and ridiculously charming grins.  
    For once, Fate said nothing, his right hand snaking behind his shoulders to feel the barely visible wound.  
    The man glanced down, holding the back of his neck with one hand, his otherworldly blue eyes flickered, a little confused, as if he couldn't understand the emotional disturbance he was currently feeling.

    Malcolm Graves, catching this, sighed lightly, his features sympathetic. Without a word, he grabbed the lankier man by his good shoulder and held him close against his own chest, inhaling the fragrance of ridiculously expensive cologne mixed in with the scent of leather, gold and spices.  
    “You'll be fine,” Graves whispered lightly and reassuringly, the voice still rough and rouge, but definitely an attempt at gentle kindness, which seemed to have caused an interesting effect on Fate.  
    “Of course I will,” Twisted Fate mumbled, his voice inlayed with dried arrogance and banter.  
    Graves' next words were blurry and unidentified to Twisted Fate, for the lanky man had already been occupied by his own dread. An unfamiliar emotion filled the gambler and he felt fear flooding him for the first time in almost a decade and a half. It wasn't the fear for his own life, it was the fear for his partner, his Malcolm Graves.  
    Twisted Fate chewed his bottom lip nervously, his fingers silently curling into fists.

    The more he thought about it, the more petrified he became. If he, Twisted Fate, a man known to escape even the worst scenarios, who would expect the unexpected could be caught off guard and possibly killed, wouldn't his partner have an even greater percentage of falling for the same terrible fate?  
    He felt his panic rising, constricting him tight enough that it was almost painful to breath through. His mind was buzzing and thoughts were a little clouded around the edges, unregistered and uncharacteristically slow.  
    Without even a second thought, he gave one sharp shake of his head, as if casting those degrading thoughts right out of his head.  
    Twisted Fate blinked and grinned charmingly at Malcolm Graves.  
    “I knew you cared, hotshot,” the gambler purred lightly, nudging Graves' shoulder with his elbow playfully. Graves just muttered something before holding Fate tighter in his embrace.  
    “Bastard,” Malcolm Graves sighed, brushing a lock of Twisted Fate's stray hair from his face and tucked in behind his ears, “you swear you're not lying to me?”  
    “Aren't you suppose to be a heartless and ruthless, gun-wielding outlaw?”  
    “Fate, you're avoiding the question.”  
    

    “Everything's fine.”

XxX

    Everything was perfectly fine the moment the two partners set foot in Bilgewater’s ports. The seas were the same teal-tinted, emerald green-blue as always. The pubs were noisy, and the ships sails that flapped lightly in the salty breeze was almost calming, subtle. Small gulls chirped and squawked, bouncing from wood to stone, fluttering its wings at the people who passed.  
    As the two men paced down the slightly barnacle-crusted logs of road and felt the grainy cracks of salt underfoot, they couldn't help but relax if not the slightest at the familiar presence of the port and pubs.  
     
    So, when Twisted Fate felt the uneasy sensation of being watched creeping up on him, he simply dismissed it with a shrug of his shoulders, worried his bottom lip, and told himself to quit tripping over ridiculous thoughts.  
    As the two men trotted down the port, each to their own rhythm, it came to quite a shock when they found themselves cornered by Gangplank's men.  
     
    Twisted Fate was the first to realize when he was swaggering over a small portable stand, debating the price of a bottle of Sunshine Whiskey with a trader. He immediately perked up, glanced around in a worried manner, then, without a word he was off, his overpriced cloak snapping at his heels, his boots clicking down an infusion of wood and stone. With his hat pulled over his eyes, he quickly pushed himself through a crowd of confusion.  
    “Malcolm!” Twisted Fate huffed, his voice uneven as he yelled for the gunman.  
     
    Malcolm Graves looked up from his newly purchased pack of cigars and his expression immediately turned sharp. This was a time where he didn't question the gambler's decisions. He hefted his gun without a second thought and followed, his footing barley stable before Fate had grabbed him, aggressively pulling him along.  
    “Who did you piss off this time?”  
    “No one important.”  
    “I leave you for barely a minute-”  
    “Malcolm, not the time-”  
    “So we have the Devil on our trail?”  
     
    Twisted Fate neither bothered to answer nor felt obligated to retort as he cut a corner and tugged Malcolm Graves along, his breath hitched and his body language stiff and alert.  
     
    “Fate....” Graves trailed off, his eyes narrowed as he spotted the figures twenty feet away from them, “son of a bitch.”  
    “Other way!” Twisted Fate hissed, pulling Graves into another direction, his hands cold and shaking; the dreadful thought of what could potentially happen gripped him and held firm.  
    He didn't understand why this run was so important. They've ran, and still do; even had scrapes with death plenty of times, but this time, Twisted Fate couldn't understand, why this moment was so crucial that it could slice the veil between life and death.

    The heat from the run had set his veins aflame one second, then completely froze Hell over with the next. It was nauseating, disgusting even; Twisted Fate couldn't explain the emotion that he was currently being traumatized with, other than the fact that one of them was going to die there and then and he knew it.  
    It was a reaction from deep within, tugging at him, screaming at him for not seeing something only inches from his face.  
     
    He had only felt that emotional pull once in his life and he had come quite close to that same terrible fate. He was determined not to let it catch him once more.

    That's when Twisted Fate looked up, a horrified expression held beneath the deceiving hat as he absorbed in the sight of the largest ship he had seen in quite some time, with its mass and sail flowing in the growing wind, snapping and awake.  
    There were many places that Twisted Fate dared to venture.

    Not here, not now.

    “Fate, plan,” Graves huffed, glancing around at the quickly advancing men of Gangplank, “get in that ship, we're taking the water route for escape.”  
    “I-”

    Without another word, Graves had pushed himself and his partner over the ramp and onto the ship.  
    “Fate, get one of the small boats ready. I'll cover you,” Graves snarled, as the distinctive click of a gun locked in place.  
    Twisted Fate just stared at Graves, like he had demanded him to walk the plank. Then he was retreating onto the grand fleet, searching for what his partner had asked for.  
     
    Malcolm Graves was shooting, hollering insults at the attackers, each sentence followed up with the bang of a gun. His expression was hateful and determined, calloused hands working with rhythm; each bullet syncing in with the clicking. Each movement, weave and duck displayed the result of years on the run.  
    The gambler's boots clicked down the polished wood of the grand fleet, each step an attempt of confidence made a fool.  
    The gambler and card master felt the mounting dread and nausea crawling back up his throat, making him sick with each misplaced step.  
    He found what he was looking for, and he tugged at the rope, only beginning to realize how shaky his hands were.  
    Now, he was really in Lady Luck's grasp, and she did not talk to him often. Down below was the green-blue tint of the raging ocean and it was anything but forgiving.  
    Twisted Fate had the scars and wounds of childhood and reality to remind him so.

    “Fate!” Graves growled, “can't hold the lines anymore.”

    With that, the gunman retreated into the shadows of the ship.  
    “The rope won't release, it's jammed!”  
    “Son of a gun.”  
     
    Gangplank's men poured into the ship like how the high tide would hit Bilgewater's docks each night.

    “Avenge Gangplank!” They roared, weapons in hand, the hatred in their eyes.

    Twisted Fate clawed at the edge of the ship, trying to keep his grip on the polished wood, his askew.  
    “I can cause a distraction,” Graves muttered into the gambler's ears, “see those stacks of cargo? I'd known that substance anywhere. A few tons of gunpowder if I'd see any,” Graves gestured at the mountain of barrels to their right with one flick of his gaze.  
    “I'd rather go down with a fight,” Twisted Fate muttered, knowing Graves' intentions clear as day.  
    “I'd rather if we didn't die,” Malcolm Graves hissed, pulling out the bag of cigar quickly and showing Twisted Fate, “on three, jump.”  
    “I-”

    With a roar, Gangplank's men charged and Graves lit the cigarette box, package and all, and with one fluid motion, he tossed it into the mix of wood and explosives.

XxX

    The next moments in time were blurred and silent, the chain-reaction of the gunpowder went sky high.  
    Fate's ears were ringing, the commotion so loud that his mind simply didn't register the intensity of it all.  
    Twisted Fate could taste the smoke and ashes, almost see the world being painted black and red, and the next instant, there was a warmth around his middle, strong hands holding him, shielding him from the detonation and then they hit the deck. Not a second passed and the taste of blood on was on the Card Master's teeth; the two toppled over the edge of the ship and into the grasp of the bubbly green bellow.  
     
    Then the cold seized him, and he felt their weight break the surface of the seas. Seconds later, he was seeing blue and green; red on the edges of his vision.  
    There was a distinct crackle and even underwater, he felt the explosion that came next, shredding the ship into a million little fragments and the ocean ripped along with his sight.

    His hat was missing.  
     
    He was drowning.

    Panic was the first thing that greeted him, and despite all the static clouding his mind, he knew one thing was for certain; it was icy cold and his lungs were rejecting the all so unfamiliar feeling.  
    Instinctively, he grabbed the first thing closest to him, which turned out to be a pair of strong hands, and his fingers intertwined with Malcolm Graves'  
    The gambler and thief witnessed the air being torn from his lungs. He saw them turn into streams of bubbles and green-blue.

    He was losing consciousness.

    The thief yelled for Malcolm, but choked on his own constricting throat and the blurring world.      
     
    And then the blue, then the green, the white.

    Malcolm was so psychically close to him, but he felt as if, half a million miles away already.  
     
    His hands lost their grip, and he felt himself slip out of consciousness, his only hope that Malcolm Graves was still holding onto him and was never going to let him go.

XxX

    His head hurt, in fact, every part of his body screamed in protest.

    When Twisted Fate awoke, he found his head rested on a pillow and his body under a million layers of covers. His eyes flickered in confusion, shock, then fear.  
    The first thing that came out of his raspy and croaky pipe were the two words he cared so much about.

    Malcolm Graves.

    “Glad you're awake,” came a rough voice from beside his bedside.  
     
    Twisted Fate turned his head with a little difficulty and looked towards the direction of the voice and his otherworldly blue eyes just blinked once, before he was pushing himself up, his weak body forgotten and he attacked Malcolm Graves into a series of embraces and croaked whispers.  
    “Do I still look pretty?” Twisted Fate mewled, his coy look cut short with a small fit of coughing.  
    “Glad you're still yapping,” Graves sighed, and patted the small of his partner's back.  
    “So, do I still look pretty?” Twisted Fate repeated, his head rested against Malcolm's chest.  
     
    The gunman toyed with one of the thief's long, dark braids before answering with a straight face.  
    “Still think the hat is your best feature.”  
    “I don't know about best feature,” Twisted Fate grinned.  
     
    “How much of this did you know?” Graves suddenly asked, fixing Twisted Fate with a piercing stare, and this was a moment that Fate wished he still had his eyes beneath that brimmed hat so that didn't have to look Graves' in the eyes and tell him everything and everything.  
    “Some,” Twisted Fate answered as he turned his gaze away, staring at the bedside lamp.  
     
    Graves raised his right hand slowly, and he tilted the man's chin up to meet his stare.  
    “When have I steered you wrong?” Graves questioned, “I just want to keep us safe.”  
     
    Twisted Fate sighed and caught the other man's brown ones with his blue. He answered in a whisper, the words ghosted by, too weak, but Graves caught onto every word and syllable like his life depended on it.  
    “I knew from the beginning to the end, but I was too,” Twisted Fate exhaled, “too afraid to confirm my suspicions.”  
    The thief looked up at the gunman, his gaze almost pleading.  
    “I just didn't want to lose you,” the thief added, stuttering on the last word.

    A second passed, and Graves pulled Twisted Fate into another embrace, a sigh escaping the burly man.  
    “You wouldn't be able to lose me if you tried.”

    “Try me.”  
    “You wouldn't dare.”  
    “I dare.”  
    “Shut up, Fate. You still talk too much.”  
     
    Twisted Fate muttered something under his breath before punching Malcolm Graves in the shoulder playfully.

    “So, about the hat being my best feature. You still think that?”  
    “Yes.”  
    

    “Malcolm!” Twisted Fate groaned, before rolling his eyes.  
    “Fate!” Graves mimicked, pulling an imaginary hat over his eyes.

 

   

**Author's Note:**

> If you did enjoy, please leave a like and drop a comment. If you have read the Author's Notes, leave two comments so I know!
> 
> I'd love suggestions, so don't hold back.
> 
> Until next time, Eternitycode out!


End file.
